Melinda Curtis - Love, Special Delivery

Ballerina Rose glided past and delivered the casserole to the kitchen. “Oh,” she said upon reaching the cluttered sink. She set the casserole on the counter and began to wash their dirty dishes.

Mandy hurried into the kitchen, hoping no one ventured into her bedroom and noticed the clothes she’d worn yesterday in a pile on the floor. “You don’t have to do that.”

I should have broken some eggshells. Maybe then Olivia would’ve completed her chores.

“I don’t mind,” Rose kindly said. “You look like doing dishes would do you in.”

“Rose is right.” Agnes drew Mandy back to the living room. “Sit down and have one of Mildred’s cookies.”

Cookies. Mandy’s stomach growled a third time. She sat like a well-trained dog awaiting a deserved treat. Olivia did the same. In their love of chocolate, they were united.

Mildred positioned her walker next to Mandy, flipped the seat down and sat on it. She handed Mandy the cookie bag. “Agnes, do you think these girls have low blood sugar? Diabetes ran in the Zapien family, and they look pale.”

Olivia managed to bite her lip and frown at the same time. She needed to work on her smile.

“No. They’re clear-eyed.” Agnes pushed the top of Mandy’s chair, sending her into recline. “More likely they’re just tired. Can you imagine moving here, and then cleaning out George and Utley’s mess at the post office?”

“I can.” Mildred patted Mandy’s arm. “I’ve seen Utley’s living room. You take it easy tonight, honey.”

Mandy couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken care of her. It gave her a warm feeling. She grabbed a cookie and took a big bite.

“Hey,” Olivia protested, scurrying over to get one.

“That’s it.” Agnes patted Mandy’s crown. “We need milk, Rose.”

Luckily, they had some. Unluckily, to find it Rose had to open the refrigerator.

The sticky fridge door protested being opened, and Rose protested, too, opening it with a strangled noise.

Mandy’s grandmother would be horrified that one of the neighbors had evidence Mandy wasn’t Suzy Homemaker. Sadly, Mandy was her grandmother’s kin. She didn’t like the idea either.

That called for another bite of rich chocolate. “Remind me. How do I know you three?” They seemed so familiar and yet they were strangers, not to mention taking over the house. “Do you live next door?”

“No. We’re the town council.” Mildred’s gaze floated in an unfocused manner over Mandy’s face, blue eyes huge and distorted behind those thick lenses. “Been serving since you were... Well, we’ve been serving a long time.” Despite the bug eyes, Mildred had a Mrs. Claus vibe that was oddly comforting, almost as good as chocolate.

Their faces—younger, yet not young—came back to Mandy. Growing up, she’d seen them at town festivals, at school events, at the ice cream parlor.

“One day you’ll have to tell us about your grandfather,” Agnes said in an I’m-so-sorry tone of voice, the kind that always brought tears to Mandy’s eyes. “I always admired George and Blythe for taking you kids in when Teri was—”

“A flake.” Rose returned to the living room with a glass of milk and indicated Mandy sit up. “Your mother is a flake.”

Olivia stopped chewing. She claimed a blind admiration for their mother. Mandy had given up arguing with her about Mom years ago.

Rose handed the milk to Mandy, paused and put on an apologetic smile. “No offense.”

“None taken.” Mandy bit into another cookie, making short work of the sweet treat. So much for casserole. “Have you seen my mother in town recently?”

“No.” Rose returned from the kitchen almost immediately and handed Olivia a glass of milk. “You need some fresh baking soda in that fridge.”

“Vinegar,” Mildred said.

“It smells like there might be something dead underneath.” Agnes leaned down to admire Olivia’s handiwork. “Those are very pretty nails.”

Her praise won Olivia over. She preened. “If you like that, look at my feet.” She’d done them yesterday.

Agnes bent over, hands on knees. “Are those fireworks or chrysanthemums?”

“Fireworks.” Olivia wiggled her toes.

“Are you licensed?” Rose drifted closer to Olivia. “We’ve got a hairstylist in town, but not a nail lady.”

“Not yet. I’m going to cosmetology school in a few months. My grandpa left me money, but said I have to wait until I’m eighteen to collect.”

Mandy’s feeling of comfort evaporated. She couldn’t look at her sister.

“We heard your grandfather had dementia.” Mildred’s hand found Mandy’s and squeezed. “Was it bad?”

“It was,” Olivia said before Mandy could do more than nod.

“It was worse at the end,” Mandy said in Grandpa’s defense. As his kidneys failed and his organs shut down, his touch with reality hung by a thread. He hadn’t slept more than an hour at a time. He’d wake up and sing at the top of his lungs, and not always with the right words.

Glory, glory hallelujah. Glory, glory with a poodle.

“Well...” Agnes tilted her head toward the door, perhaps noticing the mist in Mandy’s eyes. “We won’t take up any more of your time. Let us know if you need anything.”

Now that Mandy was full of sugar and dinner was in the kitchen, her smile felt uncharacteristically carefree. “We’re looking to rent a place.” Too late, Mandy realized that statement opened the door to unanswered questions about why they couldn’t live in this house.

Other than a fleeting display of creased silver brows, the town council didn’t seem to care.

“Oh.” On her way out, Rose pivot-turned at the door. “There’s a cute place around the corner that used to have a beauty salon in the garage. It might be the perfect place for a nail salon.”

“We’ll get you the owner’s information,” Agnes promised.

Olivia beamed, while Mandy wondered how much more expensive a home would be to rent with a salon inside.

After the town council left, Mandy and Olivia stared at each other.

“Just this once,” Olivia said with a sly grin, “can we have cookies for dinner?”

“I hate that we think alike.” But she loved that no eggshells had been broken between them.

They each ate three more cookies and drained their glasses of milk.

CHAPTER FOUR

“HANNAH, THAT SNAKE is not coming inside.” Ben’s mother sounded flustered. She’d raised two boys and been around firemen all her life. Nothing ruffled her feathers.

Except, it seemed, a seven-year-old girl.

“But the snake is already inside.” Hannah’s calm voice, stating a fact.

Another crisis. Ben hurried to unlace his boots. Still in his navy blue uniform, he ran to the kitchen, assessing the situation as quickly as he would an emergency call.

Hannah held a slender gray snake that was about two feet long. Its small head rested between her thumb and forefinger. The rest of it was coiled around her forearm. Thankfully, it was only a garter snake.

Looking frazzled, his mother stood on sandaled tiptoe, backed into the corner of the dark kitchen cabinets. Her hands clutched her orange flowered tunic. Her short blond hair was uncharacteristically spiked up in front. If Hannah brought the snake any closer, she’d probably climb into the double metal sink. “Ben, thank heavens. Hannah slipped away again and she—”

“I didn’t slip away.” Hannah sounded weary of overprotective adults. Where Hannah used to deal with one parental unit, now she dealt with three. “You were taking a nap, so I went for a bike ride.”

Ben bit back a smile.

“Fine. Yes. I took a nap. That’s what grannies do because children are exhausting.” There was a hysterical edge to his mother’s voice. She gripped the counter so ferociously Ben was surprised she didn’t embed a fake French nail in the butcher block. “But for once, honey, can you go on a bike ride and not bring home a critter?”